By the time you've got it figured out, it's too late
and the last thing that you'll hear is wordless sound.
Everything unravels and you miss him once again
and your eyes are closed before you hit the ground.
When the papers came, they said the world was ending
and we all packed up our things and headed north.
We hung the feathers up to dry out when we got home,
told the angels we don't need you anymore.
And it took so long to untie all the knots
that we had made in everything.
And it was so wrong there was nothing left
inside him by the time we had it figured out.
It's too late.
And the pictures that we kept are faded grey.
When our fathers brought the sheep back it was screaming.
I never thought I'd hear such sounds from its throat.
And it took so long to pick up the things
the children left behind them when they ran.
I was so wrong to believe that we could
change the world, I understand it now.
When the fruit trees shed their blossoms for the winter
and the sun casts rainbows over fields of snow,
tell my lover I'll be waiting in the alley
under telegraph wires bowed beneath the crows.
And when August comes and doesn't bring the sun in,
we will set out tubs to catch the falling rain.
I will wash myself in water full of ozone,
and watch the horizon till you are home again.
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